Find the optimal jamming position for the item of furniture.

Optimal jamming position? Correct. The position from which is is impossible to make progress and impossible to retreat.

Go from there.

"There's no point being top sheep when the wolves come around."

All your monuments'll fade,

You'll feel the cut of that cold, slow blade,

And through the cackled cough of baby's breath,

You'll feel the scratch of the clacking claws of death,

And you'll know what you've become,

When twilight fades and your time has come.

But you'll find the tracks of that old, damned beast,

The last of the creatures to be released,

And through blackened forest, and land laid waste,

You'll track that shadow and come face to face.

And he'll have eyes that you cannot see,

And he'll stand beneath a ghostly cherry tree,

An' he'll speak in sunken, measured tones, crackling like a billion broken bones:

I am what mortal eyes fear to see,

I am what's always been, and always will be.

The truth is everythin's been betrayed,

Ground t'dust an' laid to waste,

And each old robot licks his lips,

To a sound comin' from a Dark Lord's finger-tips,

There'll be nothin' left but the zero sum,

When twilight fades and your time has come.

There's never been anythin' to learn,

No enemies, no allies, no glory to be earned,

No truth, no deception, no hidden form -

There's no shelter from this storm;

Just hell's fires eaten by cryptic worms,

The cold ashes in that evil wizard's urn,

In this way the world has always burned.

And to that he'll flap his wings and click his hooves,

He'll do his work, he'll have no point to prove,

An' he'll speak of an old, deadly curse, in Aramaic, in some forgotten verse :

I am what mortal eyes fear to see,

I am what's always been, and always will be.

God lay back on the deckchair and smiled slightly.

The sun was going down. But the sand of the beach was still releasing heat. So he just lay there absorbing it.

God heard footsteps behind Him.

"G'day," said a voice.

God opened one eye.

"I'm Jim," said a guy.

"Eh?" said God. He wasn't feeling sociable.

"You're God aren't you," said the guy.

"I am?"

"You are."

God preferred to keep things on the down low. So he sat up and emanated charismatic insouciance.

"I don't think so," said God.

"I know you are," said Jim.

And God knew Jim knew. Because God knew everything. Mind you, he knew this conversation was going to happen. In fact, as he wasn't bound by time and space, the conversation had already happened, was happening and would happen. And he had previously scripted it and not scripted it.

"Okay," said God. "Busted."

"You don't seem very God-like," said Jim.

God shrugged. "You wanted a throne, beard, or something?"

"Nah, I just expected ... something ... more otherworldly."

"But I created the world," said God. "And so I am of it."

God got off the deckchair and stood up.

"You don't even have very God-like abdominals," said Jim.

God chuckled. He thought that line worked quite well. Although he'd actually written it ... so he lacked objectivity. No, actually, he didn't. He saw every perspective simultaneously. And ...

"So what's it like being a God," said Jim.

"The God," said God. "There's just me."

"And you're all knowing and all powerful?"

"I move in mysterious ways," said God, rolling up his towel. "And this world is what I decide it is. And there is no decision. It just is."

And with that Jim disappeared. The beach dissolved and God went out for dinner. Something Mexican. Something new. He had decided to make it something he had never had before. Although, of course, he had.

Although this time he was going as an ostrich-donkey with a giant cycloptic eye. Although he'd done that aleady, too.

And with that, God traipsed down a dusk draped street leaving golden footsteps behind him.

And it started raining imponderables.

Why is it that humans are so suboptimal? Why don't we, say, photosynthesise? It makes sense. Rather than spend all this time growing plants to eat them. Why not just go straight to the sun?

Then I pictured this.

The cavemen walked across the plain.

"This is fucked," said argh, slinging his club over his shoulder.

"No shit," said urgh, adjusting his loin cloth. "We haven't found a fucking thing."

"I told you there'd be good hunting somewhere on the sun bleached plain of eternal suffering," said the old, bearded shaman. "I didn't say it would happen immediately."

"Useless old man," snorted argh.

"Silence, youngling!" shouted the shaman, waving his skull-stick. "Do not anger borgoron the king of the toe serpents lest he cast out the fiftieth to the sun of murmgs."

"That doesn't even make sense," said argh.

"Silence!"

'If you're gonna threaten people you need more menacing," said urgh.

"Silence!" shouted the Shaman.

And with that they stopped and sniffed the air.

"Urrgrghrhr," they said.

"I smell Sunman!" said the Shaman.

And, there, lying in the sun not far away, was a sunman. He lay on his back. Bathing in the sun.

"They make good eating," whispered Urgh.

"Quickly!" said the Shaman. "Get him while he's photosynthesising!"